Rainbow in the Dark
by Muffy Morrigan
Summary: Sam and Dean hunt an ancient evil, unfortunately it is hunting one of them, too. Hurt Dean! Protective Sam. Lots of angst!
1. Chapter 1

A/N This is my second Supernatural FanFiction, thank you so much for your positive reviews everyone! This one started out with the intention of some post Something Wicked fluff, this came instead. The time table is the same—but this is a little darker than originally conceived. Egyptophiles—I know I have taken liberties with the Eater of Souls. The story is now complete. Please review, I really appreciate your insight!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Supernatural, just stopping by to play.

Rainbows in the Dark

Chapter 1

The sound of Dean's voice woke Sam. Dean was talking again. After a week of increasingly sullen silence and solitary drinking you'd think he'd be glad his brother was talking. But this was different. Dean was talking in his sleep, the same nightmare, the same words, the same conversation, for days.

Sam was worried.

It had started nearly two weeks before. Sam knew something had been weighing on his brother. He had been withdrawn and detached. Dean had disappeared a couple of nights, only to return to the hotel late, drunk and unwilling to talk to Sam about what was going on. Sam tried, over coffee, over lunch--even when Dean was drunk. But nothing seemed to reach him.

Sam had been patient. Dean had fallen into a funk before, and after several days, a few drunk nights--and usually a bar fight--he got back to himself. But that wasn't happening this time and it was beginning to be a cause for concern.

Sam had found some interesting news on the Internet and passed it on to Dean one evening before Dean could disappear to the lounge. He had been looking for something, anything, to distract his brother and he thought he had found it. Something was mauling people in Farmington, New Mexico. Bodies, or more specifically little bits of bodies, had been found scattered around the city. In the parks, vacant lots, a catholic school and even a National Monument.

"Seems like something we might want to check out Dean," Sam said, hoping to pull Dean out of his black humor.

"Yeah, whatever, we'll go in the morning," he said heading towards the door.

"There are attacks every night. I think we should head that way now, man," Sam said. He realized how desperately worried he was for his brother. He thought the hunt might help.

"Whatever," Dean grabbed his bag and stalked out of the hotel, he got into the passenger seat of the car and pulled out a bottle of Jack. "You drive." Sam looked at his brother as opened the car door. Dean very rarely volunteered the Impala. Sam was worried.

"Dean…" Sam said getting into the car, "We need to talk."

"No talk. Drink." Dean said and took a pull on the bottle. He didn't speak again, not when Sam stopped for gas, not when they finally reached their destination, not when Sam checked them into "The Dancing Coyote Hotel". Not a word, nothing.

Dean slept away a lot of the morning. When he finally got out of bed he was hung over and belligerent and, except for the odd angry word, silent.

Sam had found out the name of the latest victim. Pearl Rivas was a cheerleader at the high school and had gone out with friends the night before. According to the police report, they had headed out of town to a popular drinking spot for high school students, built a fire and started to party. Sometime after midnight Pearl had walked away from the party, and then her friends reported hearing an animal growl and her screams. The police had found enough of her to identify, but not much else.

So Sam and Dean had gone out to the site of the attack, located on a mesa outside of town. Sam looked around for any kind of a sign of what they were dealing with. He found the place where Pearl had been killed--it was hard to miss--she must have left every drop of blood she had in the sand. The only other things of interest he found were some petroglyphs and one odd looking animal track. Sam took pictures of the glyphs and the footprint. He looked for Dean and found him sitting on a rock looking over the valley.

"Dean, you find anything?" His brother shook his head and stalked off towards the car. Sam trailed behind him. As near as he could tell, except for a couple of angry barks, it had been nearly 36 hours since Dean had spoken to him at all. Sam felt a little lost, usually they talked through a job and now, nothing.

That night was the first night that Dean's talking in his sleep woke Sam. He sat and listened to his brother's words, some distinct, some not, some utterly heartbreaking. Dean laid bare. It hurt him to listen. It worried him. The next morning Sam struggled with whether or not he should talk to Dean about it. He chose not to, convincing himself one bad night didn't mean anything.

They continued the hunt, there had been another death, this time outside of town in an apple orchard. Sam found the same smear of blood on the ground and another one of the strange footprints in the soft earth along the edge of an irrigation ditch. Dean followed behind him, not really looking at anything.

"Dean, what do you think? This looks like the same kind of track. What does it look like to you? It's animal, I think, but it seems too big," he said looking back at his brother. Dean just shrugged. Nearly all the hours since they had arrived in Farmington and Dean had not spoken, except in his sleep. Nothing.

Three o'clock in the morning and Sam was pulled from sleep by the sound of Dean's voice. He seemed to be having the same dream as the night before. At least the gist of the conversation was the same. Sam wondered what the chances of the same dream two nights in a row were.

The next morning Dean was even more silent and withdrawn. There had been yet another attack, miles from the one the night before, in another popular underage drinking spot. Sam found the tracks fairly quickly, now that he knew what he was looking for, and he also found some of the same petroglyphs he had seen at the mesa. He took pictures and they headed back toward the hotel.

When they got there Sam sat down to do some research and Dean lay down on the bed. Within fifteen minutes he was asleep, half an hour later he was talking. Sam paused to listen. Dean was--had been--dreaming about their father, at least the half of the conversation Sam heard was directed to "Dad."

"I fucked up, Dad," That one made Sam almost smile. The one time he had tried swearing in front of John Winchester his mouth had tasted of floral hotel soap for days. "I really did" Dean continued, he sounded like he was answering a question, then he launched into what Sam was beginning to think of as "the litany"

"I almost got Sammy killed, again. My fault. I brought him back to this life, he doesn't want it, he should be in college. My fault. Jessica is dead because I took him away. My fault. He blames me for that, I know, and he should. My fault. I should have never let him come back after Indiana. My fault. People are dead because I didn't act soon enough. My fault. Sammy could be killed. My fault. My fault, dad."

Sam braced himself for what he knew would come next, something that had chilled him to the bone the first night, then again last night. "Of course I will. I will die for him. Of course. I know it's coming. He'll be fine. He'll be ok, better off without me. I should never have let him take me to that faith healer. He'd be safe at school. Of course I will die for him." Sam realized what terrified him most was Dean said _will_, not I _would_ die for him--talking about a possible outcome--but _I will_, immediate. Frighteningly immediate.

Dean was answering questions now, just as if their father was sitting there speaking with him. The same answers, exactly the same. At the end of this he would drop back into a fitful sleep. No more words, nothing.

Sam ran his hands through his hair. One nightmare could be expected, a second identical dream--maybe. But three? Exactly the same? That was enough out of the ordinary to be troubling. Dean had been vulnerable after the shtriga, maybe he left himself open to something? Even though the black mood had started before they arrived, the dreams didn't start until they had arrived in Farmington, did it have something to do with the hunt?

Dean woke around four. He seemed disoriented and exhausted as he got out of bed. Sam walked over to where his brother stood beside the bed.

"Dean?" Sam said, beseeching. "Come on, let's talk, maybe watch some TV? Spinal Tap is going to be on in half an hour." No response, nothing. He grabbed his brother's arm and shook him a little. "Do you want to get something to eat?" Nothing, Dean didn't even look up and Sam's concern was beginning to boil up and over--coming out angry. "God damn it Dean! Talk to me!"

Dean looked right through him and headed out to get some air, at least that was what Sam assumed. He hadn't said anything.

Sam sighed. His worry and concern were manifesting more and more as irritation and anger. Even down right bitchiness. The desperation that drove him to figure out what was going on with his brother was keeping him up most nights. He wasn't eating right, he wasn't sleeping right and the one thing that usually made things better--Dean--was completely absent.

He tried to make up for his outburst. He had walked down to a grocery store by the hotel and bought a few choice treats for Dean. The "new improved giant size" bag of M&Ms, Doritos and a local microbrew. When he got back to the hotel Dean was back, too, sitting at the small table. To Sam it didn't look like his brother was there at all.

"I got you some food, if you can call this crap food," Sam said with a forced smile, putting the bag down on the table. Dean reached out and looked through the bag, he pulled a beer out and opened it.

"Don't you think you should eat something?" Sam said, trying to remember the last time he had actually seen his brother eat. "Ah, come on man. You have to eat, do you want to starve yourself to death or something?" The minute the joking words were out of his mouth he regretted them. Dean looked up and for just a minute Sam saw recognition in his eyes, he saw a depth of grief that took his breath away and he saw the answer to his joking question--_yes_.

Now, days later Sam was still chasing the beast. It had been summoned, he was sure of that, it was savagely evil, he was sure of that. It wasn't a skin walker or a Black dog, he was sure of that. He was sure it was something _old. _Something very old, ancient in fact. An Eater of Souls. He had found the first lore in the "Egyptian Book of the Dead," then other references in other sacred texts. The creature was seen as the servant of the gods by some, but others saw it only as a thing of evil, of pestilence, a mixture of vengeance and death. The creature who devoured a sinner's soul and then consumed his body, leaving nothing.

After interviewing one or two of the victims' friends a pattern was beginning to emerge and Sam thought it might have something to do with what was wrong with his brother. Each person he talked with said their friend had become more and more withdrawn, Pearl's boyfriend said she had been talking in her sleep about things she had done, mistakes she had made and how she just wanted to die. The stories synched up with what was happening to Dean.

Now, after more and more seemingly endless conversations he was pretty sure he knew where it would attack, he thought he had found the next victim, a teacher this time, so he was cleaning their weapons and making sure everything was ready. Hoping he had figured out the right way to kill it, he had loaded shotgun shells with rock salt, silver, and a collection of sacred herbs from nine different traditions.

He had given up trying to get Dean to talk with him. Dean was still not saying a word and he was still having the same dream. In fact, Dean was dozing--he seemed to sleep more and more--and he was dreaming again. Sam sat and listened as he worked through the litany, through his assurance Sam would be fine without him, through the question and answer session. Sam settled back, only this time there was more.

"Yes, Dad, I know. Tonight."

"I'm not sure you should come, Dean," Sam said when his brother got up that evening. "You haven't really been yourself and this thing…"

Dean looked at him, actually looked at him, for the first time in days. "No, I'm coming."

"Dean," Sam said concern coloring his voice. Dean ignored him. "Damn it Dean! You have to snap out of this! I can't work with you this way. You aren't working at all. All you do is sleep and drink and I am getting fucking sick of it! If you can't pull it together man you should just get out. Leave me to the hunt. I don't care anymore!"

"Fine, you don't care. I get it," he snapped, then he paused, "Sam I…"

If Sam had hoped that response from Dean would open the floodgate, he was wrong. That was all Dean said before he walked out of the hotel room. Sam stood with his back to the door, trying to regain his composure. He hadn't meant it to come out that way. He meant he was worried--out of his mind with worry in fact. He meant he didn't care about the hunt. He meant he only cared what was happening to Dean. He meant Dean should rest. He meant Dean should lay off the hunt for a while. He meant…

"Dad?" Dean's voice behind him, confused.

Sam turned, the thing, huge matted fur, stinking breath, smelling of death, stood there, in the hotel parking lot. "Dean!" Sam was moving towards the door, lifting the shotgun. He fired, hitting the creature in its neck. The thing turned on him, growling.

"Sam?" The gunshot reached Dean in his daze. He seemed come to himself. "Sam! No!" He threw himself at the creature. It slashed out, catching him across the chest. Dean crumpled to the ground.

Sam saw his brother fall, saw the creature move towards Dean, but managed to get close enough to fire the second shot directly into the thing. It screamed briefly, and then collapsed.

Sam rushed to Dean.

His brother was still conscious but he was bleeding. Seriously. Sam pressed his hand into the wound and felt the flesh squish around his hand. Dean groaned. Sam pressed harder, hoping to slow the bleeding. It wasn't working. He pulled out his cell phone with his left hand and dialed 911.

"I am at the Dancing Coyote Hotel. My brother has been attacked. I think he is bleeding to death."

They told him to stay on the line, they told him help was on its way. They told him all the reassuring things that meant nothing. He put the cell phone down and pressed his other hand into Dean's chest.

Dean groaned and looked up at him. "Looks like you get your wish, Sam. You wanted me to leave," he said bitterly. He took a shuddering breath. "Sam, I…" Dean's eyes rolled up into his head and he was silent. No more words, his breathing slowing, his heart laboring and then, nothing.

The blare of sirens filled the parking lot, but for Sam there was nothing, just his brother, under his desperate hands, lifeless.

"Dean, no," Sam kept his hands in place, his vision blurred as the tears started to fall.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you all for your kind words. Here is chapter two. Please review.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Supernatural, just stopping by to play.

Rainbows in the Dark

Chapter 2

The encounter with the shtriga had thrown him for a loop. Dean knew that, he knew he wasn't handling it at all well. Something about this hunt had raised memories that would not leave him alone, would not let him sleep. He compensated by drinking. A lot. He compensated by burying himself in unnamed, unknown women. Several. He compensated by insulting the biggest guy in the bar and then beating him to a pulp. More than once. He compensated by not talking, because all Sam wanted to do was talk.

He did not want to talk. He did not want to confess to Sam the pain that encounter was causing him, he did not want Sam to feel unsafe or unsure. He knew that if his brother had any idea of what was going on, he would worry. Sam wasn't supposed to worry. Sam was supposed to be safe. That was Dean's job, the only job as far as he was concerned, because when push came to shove it was always Sammy in the end. Even when dealing with their father, Sam always came first for Dean.

And the thought he had almost let the shtriga take Sam, again, was killing him. The thought that there might be something else out there he couldn't save his brother from was an open wound, painful and raw.

He dragged himself to his feet and headed towards the door. Sam was sitting at the computer, he'd been sitting there for the last couple of days.

"Hey, before you go, I think I found a hunt. In New Mexico. Something is mauling people. I think it is time to start again, don't you?" Sam said in that concerned, cajoling voice he'd started using this past week. The "Come on Dean" voice. The voice he'd used as a kid to get his big brother to do his bidding. It always worked. "It seems like something we might want to check out."

"Yeah, whatever, we'll go in the morning," he headed towards the door, hoping to make an escape. Please Sam.

"There are attacks every night. I think we should head that way now, man," Sam said, that same voice.

Let me be, Sam. Let me get myself together before we do this. Please Sam. All he said out loud was "Whatever." He picked up his bag and got into the passenger seat of the car. He pulled out the bottle of Jack Daniel's he had been nursing that afternoon. "You drive."

He knew Sam was staring at him, and hell, he should. When was the last time he had voluntarily sat in the passenger seat? "Dean," his brother said as he got into the car. "We need to talk."

Oh, god, Sammy, if I only could. I'm bleeding to death, the pain is killing me. Please, Sam. All he said out loud was "No talk. Drink." Dean watched the long miles roll past, desperately trying to numb the wound. Hoping his brother would shut up. Please, Sam.

His brother had been talking almost non-stop since they had pulled out on the road. He talked when they stopped for gas, talked when they reached their destination, talked when they checked into the "Dancing Coyote Hotel." Dean secretly believed his brother had chosen the place because of the annoyingly cute name. Hoping to get a rise out of Dean. Please, Sam.

Once they were in the room Sam opened his computer and Dean stretched out on the bed. He needed sleep. He was drunk. He was exhausted. He was no good to his brother or himself. He hated to sleep, in sleep came dreams--dreams of hunts gone wrong; dreams of Sam; dreams of that night so long ago, when he didn't kill the shtriga that was killing his brother; dreams of other times when he couldn't protect his brother; dreams of that night in Stanford.

He woke several hours and many dreams later. He was hung over, he was angry at letting himself get talked into this hunt. He was angry with Sam for wheedling him into this hunt. His words were sharp, he saw the hurt puppy look in Sam's eyes. That particularly pathetic one, why are you kicking me? He shut up. He didn't want to hurt Sam, didn't want to betray the storm raging in his heart. He didn't want Sam to not understand. Please, Sam.

Sam had said something about going to the site of the latest attack. Sam was talking about the attack, talking about the police report, talking about where they were going. The words never stopped. Dean rubbed a hand on his aching head. When they got to where they were apparently going, Dean walked away from his brother. He had to have silence, he had to be alone. He felt his brother's eyes on his back as he moved away.

He walked to the very edge of the mesa, the ground falling away a hundred feet or more below him. He sat down on a rock and tried to get his head to stop aching, tried to get his neck to relax.

"Dean," a voice that sounded like his father said. Dean looked around, he was alone. He could see Sam searching, yards away from him, but here he was alone. "You are making too many mistakes, mistakes that will get someone killed. You know that." The voice continued. Dean recognized the tone in that voice. It was his father's patient tone, the one he used when Dean was struggling to learn something, but could not quite get it right--patient, but condescending. Why aren't you smart enough to figure this out?

"Dean, you find anything?" Sam's voice startled him back to the present. He shook his head and started back towards the car. Dad's right, I will get Sam killed someday. It would be my fault. Completely my fault.

"Dean? Talk to me, please." Sam was saying as he drove a little too fast down the dirt road.

And say what Sam? I'm dying? I am losing my mind? I am wounded and bleeding and there is no end to it? I am losing you and it is my fault? What Sam? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY? Please, Sam. He said nothing aloud, and silence stood between them, a tangible wall.

His father came to him that night, he sat on the edge of the bed where Dean had been sleeping. Dean looked at his father, saw the sadness in his eyes. "I fucked up, Dad."

"Yeah, you did. Big time," his father replied.

"I really did."

"And you know if Sam had died, it would have been your fault."

He looked at his father, felt tears in his eyes. His father knew, saw into his deepest heart. He confessed. "I almost got Sammy killed, again. My fault. I brought him back to this life, he doesn't want it, he should be in college. My fault. Jessica is dead because I took him away. My fault. He blames me for that, I know, and he should. My fault. I should have never let him come back after Indiana. My fault. People are dead because I didn't act soon enough. My fault. Sammy could be killed. My fault. My fault, dad."

"This will end badly. Sam could lose his life, and that would be your fault. But you can save him, when the time comes--and it will come soon--will you die for Sam?"

Dean took a deep breath, how could his father doubt that? "Of course I will. I will die for him. Of course. I know it's coming. He'll be fine." He paused, the wound growing, bleeding, he spoke the truth. "He'll be ok, better off without me. I should never have let him take me to that faith healer. He'd be safe at school. Of course I will die for him."

"You can't go too soon, though, son." His father continued.

"I understand, sir."

"I don't want you to try anything stupid."

"Of course not, sir."

"And Dean, don't talk to Sam, it will only make it harder when the time comes."

"Yes, sir."

His father got off the bed and slipped out of the room, funny Dean didn't remember seeing him open the door. He drifted back to sleep.

In the morning Sam was particularly concerned and looking like he had not slept. Oh, god, no. Did he hear Dean's conversation with his father? Did he know what was coming? No, no, Dean took a breath. Sam was asleep, snoring through the whole time Dad had been there.

"Are you ok?" Sam asked. No, Sammy, I'm not. I am drowning. He said nothing out loud and the silent wall stood. "There was another attack last night, I thought we might head out there and look around. What do you think?"

I think I am losing my mind. I am crazy to let you hunt like this, without me, all alone. I think we should leave, I think we should rest. Please, Sam, let me rest.

Sam searched his face, waiting for an answer--when none came he wandered out to the car with Dean trailing behind him. The chatter started again. Sam was nervous, Dean could hear it in his voice. This was the chatty Sammy of years gone by, the boy who was unsure of his life and compensated by talking to his brother, his father, the truck, the waitresses at innumerous restaurants, the maids at hotels. The Sammy who would not SHUT UP. The words screamed in Dean's head. He sat silently beside his brother.

When they reached their destination, Sam walked around, looking for anything that would help with the hunt. Dean watched him, he was proud of Sam, his brother had come back to the life of the hunt with most of his skills still intact. Dean saw his brother stop, looking at something in the ground. Dean came up behind him. The ground was covered with blood, completely saturated with someone's life. What have we gotten into Sam? Can I save you from whatever did this?

"Dean, what do you think? This looks like the same kind of track. What does it look like to you? It's animal I think, but it seems to big," Sam said.

Dean looked at the animal footprint in the soft earth next to the blood. What do I think? I think it looks like death, your death, my death. We should leave, go before something happens. Please, Sam. He looked up into his brother's eyes, and said nothing. He shrugged and walked towards the car.

Daylight again and Dean was following Sam up another dirt path looking for more clues to help with the hunt. His father had come last night, going over the ground they had covered, just like when Dean was young. His father would go over and over a plan to make sure his son understood. Dean wished he would give it a break. He needed to sleep. He followed his brother, not contributing, not even really there. When they got back to the hotel he collapsed on the bed. He needed to sleep. He felt Sam watching him, knew he was angry for crashing at this time of day. Let me sleep, please, Sam.

He woke several hours later. His father had come again, covering the same ground. Why won't he let me sleep? He saw Sam sitting at the computer, his brother must have left him alone while their father was here. Did you even see him, Sam? Sam had gotten up and was standing by him. Their shoulders not quite touching.

"Dean? Come on, let's talk." He paused, "Maybe watch some TV? Spinal Tap is going to be on n half an hour." No Sam, TV won't help. I can't talk to you about this. He felt Sam grab his arm and give it a little shake. "Do you want something to eat?" No Sam, I don't want to eat, nothing will stay down. Sam grabbed his other arm and shook him, hard. His grip hurt, his voice angry. "God damn it, Dean! Talk to me!"

No Sam, I can't talk. I am not like you, I can't find the words. After all this time, I can't talk. I can't tell you what's coming. Do you hate me, little brother? He pulled himself loose from Sam's grip and walked out of the room. He walked around the edge of the hotel and sank down on the retaining wall, staring out over the small city. He must have been sitting there for awhile. The sun had moved in the sky. He walked back to the room.

Sam was gone. The room was empty. Dean sank down in the chair by the table, the chair his brother had been sitting in a few minutes--hours?--ago. Sam left. He's finally left me alone. What will I do? How can I help him? Why didn't he say good-bye? Don't leave without saying good-bye. Please, Sam.

The door opened and Sam walked in carrying a grocery sack. "I got you some food, if you can call this crap food," Sam said setting it down in front of him. Sam smiled, it looked forced. Dean reached in and pulled out a beer. Maybe that would numb the pain, stop the bleeding.

"Don't you think you should eat something? Ah, come on, man. You have to eat, do you want to starve yourself to death or something?" Dean looked up, into his brother's eyes. Sam, how can you know that? When did you figure it out? Yes, Sam, I want to starve, I want to die, I want to save you from me. I would kill myself, but I promised Dad. He heard his brother's sharp intake of breath and then Sam turned away from him, his shoulders hunched.

The days were blending together. His brother had given up talking. He was silent most of the time. Dean missed the chatter, somehow that annoying and constant babble had been a salve on the wound. A lifeline, keeping him in the present. Dean was drinking, but it didn't help, it didn't stop the pain, he couldn't even get drunk anymore. Sam was on to something, or so Dean thought. His brother was cleaning their weapons preparing for something, the end of the hunt, maybe. Can it be over now, please, Sam.

Dean was on the bed and he thought he drifted off. His father was there again, reminding him of his duty, reminding him of what needed to be done. But his father told him it was time. Tonight.

"It's tonight, Dean. Do you understand? Tonight."

"Yes, Dad. I know. Tonight." His father let him sleep then. He woke up and the sun had dropped in the horizon, the room was lit by the lamp on the table. He looked at Sam, why didn't his brother ever mention seeing Dad?

"I'm not sure you should come tonight, Dean," Sam said, the first words he had said to Dean in what felt like days. "You haven't really been yourself and this thing…"

He looked at his brother, god Sammy looked awful. He looked like he hadn't slept in days and days. No way he was going to let Sam do this on his own. "No, I'm coming."

His brother looked at him, "Dean…" that beseeching voice. Dean chose to ignore him. "Damn it, Dean! You have to snap out of this," Sam got up pacing away. "I can't work with you this way. All you do is sleep and drink and I am getting fucking sick of it." Sam was angry, there was a terrible edge to his voice. Dean was afraid of what would come next. "If you can't pull it together you should just get out. Leave me to the hunt. I don't care anymore."

No, Sam, no. "Fine you don't care. I get it," he snapped at his brother. Not this, not tonight, I don't want it to be this way between us. Little brother, please, little brother, help me. I am drowning, drowning in my own blood, my own tears, help me. Please, Sam. He took a breath, maybe the silence could end, everything else could end. "Sam, I…"

"Dean, what are you doing?" His father demanded.

Dean turned, confused, "Dad?" His father came towards him. "Time to go, son,"

He heard his brother scream his name and a shotgun shell exploded into their father. The sound of the explosion blew away the clouds, the veil that he had hidden behind all these long days. "Sam?" He looked around for his brother.

And then he saw it. Not his father, not anything he recognized. It was huge, matted gray fur, cake with dried blood, smelling of death, his death, Sam's death. The thing had turned on Sam. He launched himself at it. "Sam! No!" The thing struck out at him, he felt his chest ripped open, felt his blood begin to flow and he collapsed on the ground. He heard another shot.

Then Sammy was there, with him. His hand was on Dean's chest, trying, in vain, to stop the flow of blood. Sorry, Sam, I fucked up again. He heard Sam's voice, talking to someone "I think he's bleeding to death."

Yes, Sam. I have been, for a long time. He opened his eyes. I am sorry you hate me, I only wanted to protect you. I am sorry for what I have done to you. Bitterness welled up like bile in his throat. "Looks like you get your wish, Sam. You wanted me to leave." And I am leaving, but Sam, I don't want to leave you. I don't want you to be alone. I am afraid of being alone, please don't leave me. He took a deep breath, focusing all of his attention, all the tiny spark of energy he had left, in getting a few last words out. I am sorry Sam, I didn't mean what I said, I know you don't wish me away. "Sam, I…" He felt consciousness slipping away, he felt Sam's hands on his chest, pressing down, he thought he heard his brother crying.

Don't cry. Please, Sam. And all was silent.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Supernatural, just stopping by to play.

Rainbows in the Dark

Chapter 3

"Mr. Bernstein?" Sam looked up, a doctor stood in front of him.

"Yes?"

"I've just come from your brother."

Sam jumped to his feet, "How is he? Is he…"

"He's alive," the doctor said. Sam took a shuddering breath. "But only just. He has lost an extraordinary amount of blood. You should probably prepare yourself for the worst."

"But you said he's alive," Sam whispered, holding on to that beautiful word _alive._

"Yes, but he's critical, and has dropped into a coma he will most likely not wake from. We rarely see recovery in a case like this, he's just too far gone," the doctor said, compassion in her eyes. "I am sorry."

"Can I see him? Sit with him?" Sam asked.

"Of course, I'll have a nurse show you to his room." She turned and walked away.

Sam stood in the hallway waiting for the nurse. People moved around him, talking--even laughing. Sam waited in silence. Alone. The nurse came and touched his arm, he followed her to a room. She left him outside the door, somehow sensing he needed to go in alone. Sam leaned his head against the doorframe for a moment, dreading what he would find behind the door. He opened the door and stepped in, the door swung shut behind him.

"Oh, god, Dean." He sank down into the chair by the bed. He took his brother's hand in his and squeezed. "I'm here. I won't leave you. I'm here." He wondered if Dean could hear him, if Dean would call him a liar for that statement, because he had left, twice in fact. He had told Dean he planned to leave again, after they killed the thing that had taken their mother and Jess. "I won't leave you," he repeated.

He sat quietly for awhile, listening to the _beep beep_ of the heart monitor and the sucking noise as the machine pulled air in and out of Dean's lungs. He occasionally would reach up and lay his hand against his brother's forehead, hoping the contact would generate some response. But nothing.

"Can you hear me? What am I supposed to do? I killed it, and it means nothing. Nothing." Sam said, "We weren't really together these last few days were we? You've been someplace else, all this time. Why didn't I see it? How could I miss it? Why didn't you trust me enough to help?" He leaned back in the chair, still keeping Dean's hand in his. "I never knew you had so much trapped inside you, why won't you just talk to me, man? It doesn't always have to end up in a chick-flick, but don't you think even that is preferable to this?"

"Mr. Bernstein?" The nurse said as she came into the room. "The police would like to speak with you for a moment."

"Yeah, ok." Sam stood and walked out of the room. He glanced up at the clock. It had only been an hour. It seemed like a lifetime. Dean's life, slipping away to nothing.

"We just need a statement from you," one of the uniformed officers said. Sam did his best to tell of the attack, leaving out the most important bits, of course. He said it was a wild animal. He said his brother had tried to stop it from attacking him. He said he had shot it twice.

"You shot it twice?" The cop asked.

"Yes," Sam said, wondering what caused the raise of eyebrows and significant look the two police officers exchanged.

"Are you sure? We know the EMTs reported seeing the body of an animal when they arrived, but by the time we got there, whatever it was had gone."

"Gone?" Sam asked. "How could it be gone?"

"We did find a trail of blood, but it disappeared outside of town." The cop shrugged. "Thanks for your statement." They turned and walked away.

"What? No, it can't be," Sam said to their backs. The thing was still alive? It was still out there? It would be enraged. It would come again. Dean! He ran back to the room and threw the door open. He wasn't sure what he expected to find. It looked the same as when he had left.

He sat back by the bed. "I didn't kill it after all, Dean. I didn't stop it. Sloppy, I know. I should have checked to make sure, but I couldn't leave you. I couldn't." He ran a shaking hand through his hair, at a complete loss. What to do? He didn't want to leave Dean alone, he couldn't leave that thing out there to hurt someone else, or more importantly, come back for Dean. "What can I do? I need you here, man. I can't do this without you."

He put his head down on the bed, as close to complete despair as he had ever come. Not even after Jess, not when the doctor had told him Dean's heart would fail, never had he been this devastated. Dean had always been there, even sick, even dying, Dean had been there, his rock, his anchor in the storm. Now Sam was adrift, not knowing where to turn.

Dad. He should call their father, maybe just this once he would leave the hunt to come to his sons. There was a hunt for him here, maybe he would come for that. Sam pulled out his phone and dialed his father. He was not surprised when voicemail answered. "Dad, it's Sam. Dean's been hurt, the thing that did it is still out there. I need your help."

He ended the call and sat staring at his phone. He nearly dropped it when it rang a few minutes later. He looked at the caller ID in surprise, "Dad? You called back! Thank god. Dean's hurt. I need help hunting the thing that did it."

"Sorry Sammy, I can't leave my hunt right now."

"He's dying. The doctor told me he isn't going to wake up. I need your help."

"What could I do there Sam? We would all just be in danger and I am getting close to the demon. I need to stay on this."

"Your son is dying. You could hold his hand. You could help me kill the thing that did this to Dean. You could be here." Sam was angry. It was always this way. He and his father could not communicate without Dean between them. Dean was the peacemaker in the family. The glue that held two volatile personalities together.

"I'm sorry. I can't. Let me know…"

"What? When he dies? Of course Dad, I'll let you know when to come and burn his bones." He hung up the phone. He looked at his brother. "I fucked that up royally didn't I?"

He smiled sadly. "Do you think Dad and I will ever have a conversation that doesn't end in anger? I know, I know. You think I am unfair to him, and maybe I am. But Dean we need him, I need him. Here, now. He still only cares about the hunt. Not our hunt, his. And we are left alone. Just like when we were kids. Only this time I am all alone, you were always there."

Sam sighed and put his head in his hands. He needed Dean to wake up, to help him deal with the fact that Dean wasn't going to wake up. He needed Dean to help him kill the thing that did this. He needed Dean.

That train of thought was not getting him any closer to killing the Eater of Souls. He had been so sure he had it right and he had obviously wounded it. What had he missed? There must be more. There had to be more. An unbidden thought curled itself through his brain--What if no one has ever killed one before? What if it can't be killed?

Bullshit, a voice in his head that sounded remarkably like his brother said. Everything has a weakness. Anything can be killed.

"Alright Dean, you're right. I need to do more research. I am going to get my computer. I will be back in less than an hour. Don't leave. Do you hear me, you can't leave." He laid his hand gently on his brother's head, "I will be right back."

Five hours later and Sam was splitting his time between the cafeteria where they had Wi-Fi and Dean's room. Every time he left Dean he would tell him where he was going, how long he would be gone and that Dean was not to leave. Sam said it every time, even though there was no response. Nothing.

He finally found something. He felt like he had been surfing aimlessly for hours, but finally he found something. A little known text, thousands of years old, from Egypt's Old Kingdom. A priest recorded the rampage of a creature that forced people to relive their sins, slowly devoured their soul through their dreams and then came for them in the flesh, opened their chest and while the victim was bleeding to death, it consumed their bodies. Gross, dude, the voice that sounded like Dean said.

He wandered back to the room. He was exhausted. He knew he wasn't really up to the hunt, but if the ancient priest had it right (and of course the translator of the text) the thing was still with Dean, still in his unconscious, still feeding off Dean's soul, causing him to relive his "sins" and slowly taking his life from the inside out. If Sam didn't kill it soon, there would be nothing left of Dean in his body. Nothing.

He sat back by his brother's bed. He took Dean's hand. On a sudden inspiration he got up and sat on the bed. Sam pressed his brother's hand flat against his chest, his own hand covering Dean's holding it right over Sam's heart and the steady beat. During the course of his research Sam had discovered the ancient Egyptian's believed the heart was the seat of the soul, the seat of intelligence. Sam hoped that maybe some little bit of his heart would reach Dean, wherever he was trapped.

"I am going to go after it Dean. I think I've I found a way to kill it. I know, you would say I shouldn't go, but I have to try. It is killing you. I know. You probably have some idea that you are not worth it--but you are Dean. I need you to know that before I go. I need you to know that I will be back. I need you here when I get back, Dean. You can't leave me. I told you once I would die for you, and that is true. I know you would gladly die for me--I mean here you are--but can you live for me?"

Sam stopped, tears running freely down his face. He looked at his brother, and pressed Dean's hand harder to his chest. Trying to pour everything into that touch. His heart was beating fast. "Please be here when I get back, Dean. I will be back, I promise. Maybe I can help you find your way back. I don't know. I don't seem to know a lot when you aren't around. But Dean, I know one thing, one thing completely and utterly, big brother, I love you." Sam stopped, the breath catching in his throat. Had he said that since they left childhood behind? Had he? In those words?

He pressed the hand against his chest a little harder then set it gently back on the bed. He leaned over the bed and kissed Dean on the forehead, the way Dean had tucked him in a million times. "I love you, Dean." And he walked out of the room without looking back.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N Here are the final four chapters. Thank you everyone for your reviews. Please let me know what you think of this last bit.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Supernatural, just stopping by to play.

Rainbows in the Dark

Chapter 4

The sun was going down when Sam left the hospital. He drove back to the motel to gather the things he would need for the hunt. He wanted more of the shells he had loaded, he knew they could hurt the thing even if they didn't kill. After gathering up his bag from the room he stood looking into the trunk of the Impala. He had been through it twice and was frustrated, the one thing he needed to kill the thing he couldn't find. There were silver knives, iron knives, dream catchers, EMF detectors, guns of various kinds, silver bullets, herbs, rock salt--but no copper. Not one single bit of copper. Nothing.

And Sam needed a copper knife. The ancient text said the thing could only be killed with a copper knife. Sam was at a loss to know where to turn for that item. The sense of urgency to have it done, to kill the thing, to save Dean was beginning to effect his judgement--he knew that. He was desperate, afraid and angry. It was the anger that was the worst--it clouded everything. Anger at his father, anger at Dean for letting this happen, anger at himself for letting this happen.

He stopped, and took a breath. You are leaving yourself wide open to this thing, the voice that sounded like his brother said. You need to get your head together.

"Thanks Dean, maybe you should have listened to that advice yourself," he said aloud and then sighed. He was really losing it--now he was talking to his brother who was laying miles from him, near death, tubes sustaining his life as it faded to nothing.

Snap out of it! He told himself sternly. He was beginning to suspect the thing was aware of him--aware of his hunt. His thoughts were getting increasingly morbid as he moved closer to taking action. I have to stay focused, I have to save Dean.

"Dean doesn't want to be saved," a voice said clearly. It sounded familiar, Sam couldn't--didn't--want to recognize it.

A copper knife, I have to find a copper knife, he repeated to himself. Stay focused. He walked to the motel office, hoping the clerk might know if there was a store around. A store that carries copper knives, yep, I'm sure they have those in abundance.

"Hi," he said to the pretty clerk. "I was wondering if you knew where I might find a copper…" Yeah, this will sound weird.

"Salt shaker? Spoon? Letter opener?" She said.

"Letter opener? Yeah, that would work." Sam said.

"I have some over there with the other souvenirs. There is a really cute one with a howling coyote on it."

"Perfect," Sam said picking it up, it was definitely cute, the coyote had a pink kerchief around its neck, just the thing to kill an ancient evil--Dean will love this when I show him.

"He'll never get the chance, he's nearly gone now," the familiar voice said. No--Sam tried to tune the voice out--it can't be.

Sam paid for the letter opener and got in the car. He planned to go out to the first spot they had investigated. He had a hunch that was where the thing would be. Three of the attacks had taken place in that vicinity. As he drove out of town he put one of Dean's tapes in the stereo. The music filled the car, it almost felt like Dean was with him.

"I have to tell you, I am scared shitless," he said talking to his brother, talking to the empty passenger seat. "I have never hunted anything like this alone--hell, I have never really hunted alone. How do you do it? Knowing there is no one to back you up? No one to catch you if you fall? I can't keep this up Dean. I need you here."

He turned onto the dirt road that led out to the mesa. Once he got out there he needed to build a fire, and hopefully he could accomplish that before the thing came for him. He knew it was aware of him, that familiar voice was an indication of that. He pulled off the dirt road and grabbed his weapons and something to get a fire started. He walked away from the car, then turned back and reached in to snag one of Dean's tapes. He put it in his pocket, as a token to remind him why he was here, something to help him focus, he had a feeling he might need it soon, with that familiar voice calling to him.

Sam sighed as he walked away from the car. "When this is over, dude, I am going to kick your ass, then sit you down and make you dump all this shit you are carrying around. I don't care if it is the chick-flick moment of the century, you are going to talk to me. This is never happening again." Sam said to the nothingness around him.

"It's almost over for Dean. He is nearly gone, and in your deepest heart, won't you be glad? So many things he needs to pay for, so many sins to be redeemed. I would be alive if not for him, wouldn't I, Sam?" the familiar voice, Jessica's voice, started again.

"And then Dean," he continued, trying to ignore that voice, her voice, the voice that called to him in his dreams. "Then we are going to make a pact to be open with each other. We can't have the silence between us. We can't. I fill the quiet with words, but they really mean nothing."

"Nothing at all, Dean doesn't hear you. Dean doesn't want to hear," her voice said.

Sam was gathering a few bits of wood to get the fire started. He had to have the fire. The ancient priest was very clear on that, you have to remove the thing's heart and burn it. The heart is the seat of the soul, it has to be destroyed for the thing to die. Sam hoped it was true, that it actually worked like that.

That's one of the nice things about what we hunt, Dean's voice said. There are rules that they have to play by, you just have to make sure you have the right playbook.

"Thanks for the support, this would be easier if you were here to watch my back." Sam said into the night.

"He can't hear you, those words are yours, not his," said the thing with Jessica's voice. "He has left you, he doesn't want to help."

Sam held a lighter, Dean's lighter, to the dry wood. His hand was shaking so badly he could barely keep the flame in place long enough to get the wood burning. The voices were beginning to become overwhelming, Jessica's voice, Dean's voice, his own voice. Too much.

"I don't know how long I can do this, man," he said, talking aloud. Filling the silence with sound. "I don't know. I really wish you were here." He put his hand in his coat pocket, clutching Dean's tape, the edges of the case cutting into his palm.

"Dean's doesn't want to be here, he wants to die," Jessica's voice said.

"Only because you are hurting him," Sam finally answered the thing.

"He deserves to be hurt, don't you think? So many dead because of him. I'm dead because of him, you know that, don't you Sam. If he hadn't taken you away from me, I'd still be with you."

"That's not true," And Sam suddenly knew he believed that, knew that it was true. Had he really been harboring the thought his brother was to blame all this time? The thing must have seen something. Must have seen a secret hurt. "Oh, Dean, I'm sorry. I don't blame you, it would have happened anyway. I'm sorry."

"He can't escape from his fate. He knows he is worthless, he knows he has failed," the thing with Jessica's voice continued.

"Only because you are feeding him half truths," Sam said.

"That's not true. Didn't your research teach you anything? I just help people realize what is in their heart, and help them leave it behind."

Oh, Dean, I'm sorry. "You bring up all their pain so you can have a nice snack," Sam said.

"Now, is that fair?" And suddenly Jessica was before him, her hair moving in the soft night breeze.

Sam gripped the cassette tape even harder. He felt the case break in his hand. She's not real, she's not real, she's not real, he repeated to himself. She was walking towards him, slowly, gently with that swaying walk he had like to watch--particularly from behind. (I knew you had it in you Sammy, said Dean's voice with an audible smirk.) As she got closer Sam could smell the thing it actually was. The sick-sweet smell of death, of decay. Dean's death, his soul's decay.

"You were the one in Dean's dreams--he thought you were our father."

"Yes. I choose the one who had the strongest voice. He was the person that could influence him the most. Well, that's not quite true, you have more influence, but you were physically with him, so it would have been hard to do."

"Me? I doubt that. Dean and Dad have a bond. Dean does what Dad says, he always has," Sam heard the bitterness in his voice, the pain, the long-standing hurt. No, no, no, I have to stay focused for Dean.

"If you had been a little more focused on Dean you could have saved him. You could have stopped me, your voice would have overpowered mine," the thing said in Jessica's voice.

It was true, he knew it, his fault. Dean was dying and it was his fault, not their father's, not this thing before him, only Sam. Sam's fault.

SAM! Snap out of it, dude. It's fucking with your mind.

"Thanks Dean," He whispered into the dark. He looked at the thing that was now Jessica. He took a deep breath, focusing on the stench, something to remind him this was not Jess.

"I could be, though. We could have time together," she said stepping closer. "When I am finished with Dean--and I nearly am--we could be together. We could spend time, have the chance to say good-bye."

I never said good-bye, did I? Oh, Jess, I'm sorry. My fault. I loved you. My fault.

Sam stopped and took another deep breath, the smell of the thing filling his lungs. This was beginning to sound like Dean's dream, the litany he recited every night like some kind of prayer of failure. No, Sam shook himself out of it. I can't help Dean if I let the thing do this to me.

"Maybe you are stronger than Dean," the thing said. "He couldn't resist me, but then maybe you have fewer sins? Dean has been such a feast, so many faults, so many wounds, each one a pleasure to explore, but it is almost over now. Not much left at all. Sadly, I won't have the pleasure of the final meal, but the taste of his blood was enough."

She was right in front of him, the stench of the thing blending with Sam's memories of Jessica's perfume. She reached out a hand and laid it gently on his cheek. "Then we can be together, Sam. We can spend some time reliving your life, visiting the past. You might not be as tasty as your brother, but I am sure we can make do."

No. "NO!" Sam shouted, he started to bring up the shotgun, to try and wound it again before it could attack him, attack Dean, again.

"Naughty Sam," it said, dragging Jessica's hand down his face. He felt the skin tear, felt the warmth of blood on his cheek. He pulled the trigger.

Jessica fell, the wound in her chest, open, gaping, bleeding freely. Sam pulled the copper letter opener out of his pocket. "You can't do it, Sam. You can't hurt me, and it doesn't matter anyway. He's dead. He just died. They tried valiantly, but he's dead now, so why not just stay with me?"

Dean! No! His mind screamed his brother's name as he drove the knife into Jessica's body. She was screaming, he tried not to hear as he pulled her heart, beating, from her chest.

"You can't do it Sam, we could still be together. Dean is dead, so what does it matter? Be here with me, I will give you peace. He died in agony, every second pain, you didn't stop that, but your death could be different." Jessica's voice continued in his head.

Sam hesitated. He wanted to be with her, bury himself in her, let her take his pain away.

He threw the heart into the fire. "How could I be with you? You killed Dean. Nothing can help that, nothing" He looked over at her, the body slowly became the thing it actually was then faded into flame, the light flaring in the dark night until there was nothing.

Sam stumbled back to the Impala. He threw the knife into the well on the passenger side of the seat. As he got into the car he saw his cell phone on the seat. Three missed calls. He picked it up with unsteady hands and hit retrieve on his voice mail. Three calls, three messages.

The first took his breath from his body. "This is Dr. Saunders, we have just had to resuscitate your brother, you should return to the hospital, I think we are going to lose him." Sam erased the message.

The second message came on, "This is Dr. Saunder's. I'm sorry. We couldn't bring him back the second time. He died at 11:27 p.m. I am so sorry, please call to make arrangements." The phone dropped from his hand. The third message was playing, there were words, the voice sounded like the doctor again, but Sam only heard sound, nothing that made sense. His brain was numb, his body screamed in pain. Tears were trapped behind his eyes, his chest hurt, but the tears didn't come. He put the car in gear and drove towards town, and still the tears wouldn't come. There was nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Supernatural, just stopping by to play

Rainbows in the Dark

Chapter 5

Sam would never be sure how he managed to maneuver the Impala back into town and back to the hospital. He would remember the steering wheel feeling slick--from a cut on his hand he hadn't realized was there--he would remember the loud, blaring music, the beat pounding into his head, but all else was meaningless. It was all a blur, a blur of pain, a blur of loss, nothing but the urge to get back to his brother--his brother's body. He was exhausted, almost beyond his limits and his face ached where the thing's claws had opened it. He parked the car and staggered into the emergency room.

The triage nurse took one look at him, covered in blood, dazed, and immediately ushered him back into an exam room. Sam was barely aware of what was going on. Someone came in and cleaned the wounds from the thing's claws, someone else came in and he felt stitches going into his cheek. Someone bandaged the cheek. He felt someone pick up his hand. They gently cleaned the plastic from the cassette case out of a wound in his palm, he felt three stitches in his palm. They bandaged his hand. He was given a shot, he thought she said it was an antibiotic. Someone asked him what happened.

My world has ended. That's what happened. I killed it, I cut her open, I killed her again. I killed the thing that killed my brother and still my world has ended.

He heard his voice saying that he had been attacked by a wild animal. He heard his voice saying he had killed the animal. He heard their reassurances that he would be fine.

I will not be fine, never again. I will hunt, I will live, but I will never be fine again.

None of it mattered, it all meant nothing.

"Mr. Bernstein! I'm glad I found you," The voice came to him, reaching out to him, like the other voices, all the voices. Sam looked up at the doctor that had been treating Dean. "I have been trying to reach you--you didn't answer your phone."

"I got the messages, my brother is dead," Sam heard himself speaking, his voice sounded like it was coming from a long way away.

"Didn't you get the other message?" She laid a hand on his arm, compassionate, gentle.

"What?" Sam looked up and focused on her, she was smiling. Why are you smiling when my brother is dead?

"We did call time of death. We removed life support…" She trailed off.

"Doctor, please," Sam said, barely keeping it together, he needed the story over, he needed to find Dean, he needed…

"His heart started again. He's breathing on his own."

"What?" Sam looked at her. "What?"

"I still don't think he will come out of the coma, I don't know what damage was done, but for now he is breathing on his own. Never see anything like it."

"When did it happen?" When?

"About forty-five minutes ago. You can see him if you want."

"Thank you, oh god, thank you" Sam whispered, he stumbled towards his brother's room. Forty-five minutes ago was when the thing told him his brother was dead, when Sam managed to wound it, when he destroyed Jessica's body and burned her heart in the fire. Forty-five minutes more of life.

Sam stopped outside the door. Maybe it was all just a dream and he was still out there on the mesa. No. His hand was bandaged, his cheek ached. I'm here, Dean's here. Sam opened the door. He could still hear the _beep beep_ of the heart monitor, the blessed sound of life--at least for now--and instead of the sucking noise of the machine that had been breathing for Dean there was only a soft hiss of oxygen running through a tube under Dean's nose. Sam sat in the chair by the bed.

"I killed it Dean. I did it. Thank you for waiting for waiting," He paused. "Dean, I don't know if you were just waiting until I got back, I don't want you to go, Dean, but if you have to, at least you can go without the pain, you can rest without the agony.. At least I could do that for you. It's not much, I know, but you can go in peace."

Unbidden came a not so distant memory.

"_You aren't going to let me die in peace are you?"_

"_I'm not going to let you die at all."_

It was the final straw. The stress of the long silence, the tension between them, the worry for Dean, the terror of the first attack, the fear for Dean, the vigil in the hospital, the terror for Dean, the horror of the hunt, the loss of Dean, the pain of his wounds and the grief--Dean's death--welled up and overwhelmed him.

He felt the tears building again, felt them in the place behind his eyes, and they suddenly poured out, violent, the sobs wracking his body, he laid his head down on his brother's bed and wept. His whole focus was taken up by the pain and he felt like he was drowning. He was shattering outward in a million pieces never to be recovered. The pain, physical and emotional had the upper hand. And the last days blurred into one open sore, raw, killing in its depth.

"_Fine you don't care I get it." _

"_You get your wish, I'm leaving" _

"_Sorry Sammy, I can't leave my hunt." _

"_Prepare for the worst." _

"_Dean doesn't want to hear you."_

"_Have the chance to say good-bye_

"_He died at 11:27 p.m._"

The words, the voices swirled around him, they were pulling him down, down to a place the Eater of Souls would easily recognize. The despair that had touched him earlier consumed him, it clawed at him the way the thing had, tore at his heart. He was lost, he knew it and he didn't have the strength or the inclination to recover himself.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Supernatural, just stopping by to play

Rainbows in the Dark

Chapter 6

Don't Cry, Please Sam.

The words echoed in the darkness around him. Please, Sam. He knew, at least he thought, he had heard his brother crying. Why are you crying, Sammy? You can go back to the life you want now. Let me go and you can be free, free of the hunt, free of the fear--free of me. The darkness will come for me and you can be free.

"He wants to be free of you. You almost got him killed again," his father stood before him, formless in the darkness, but Dean knew he was there.

"I tried to save him, I was too late."

"Tried doesn't cut it. Tried won't save him. Tried won't keep him from me."

Anger welled up, Dean knew the thing for what it was. "You are not my father."

"No. Took you long enough to figure it out, took what was left of your pathetic, worthless life to realize it. I wonder if Sam will be fooled so easily?"

Sam, no. Don't go after it, let it kill me, protect yourself. Please, Sam.

"He is trying to find a way to hunt me, even now. Let yourself go, and maybe you can save him," the thing said. Dean felt something pull at him. I can save Sam, it is all that matters. I can go and he will be safe.

"_Don't leave. Do you hear me? You can't leave. I will be right back." Sam's voice muffled, from another room?_

You don't want me to leave? I thought you wished me away. Don't you hate me little brother? I have taken so much these last months, and still you ask me to stay?

"He doesn't care, he just doesn't want the guilt that you died while he was out," his father's voice said.

I will wait.

The darkness around him was complete. Dean had always been afraid of the dark, even before his mother had died. The darkness was full of fear, of loathing, of things that hated and killed and maimed. He knew that, even before--before his father realized it, before Sam realized it. He had always known the dark was full of horror. Yes, he had always been afraid of the dark. Did I ever tell you that, Sam? All those nights when Dad left us alone I sat awake with a gun in my hands, terrified of the dark? Listening to the sounds of you sleeping, waiting for morning, waiting for that first light against my eyelids?

"It will all be darkness soon, never for you to escape, why not just give in now? Let the fear take you, let it end." Dean felt something pulling at him, something being taken away from him. He knew the thing with his father's voice was pulling bits of him away into the darkness. He let himself drift towards it.

"_Dean, don't leave. I am going to do some research. I will be back in half an hour. Don't leave. I will be back, I promise." Sam's voice, reaching into the darkness._

Dean pulled back from the thing, from the temptation to let go. You want me to stay? Even now? I will wait. Please, Sam.

"You have failed him," the thing said.

"Yes, I have. I failed him in more ways than he will ever know. It is all my fault. All of it."

"Yes, your fault," the voice had an edge of pleasure to it. The sound terrified Dean in the darkness. "You have made so many mistakes, cost so many lives, if you stay it will only cost more. It will cost Sam's life."

"I know," Dean said and knew the thing was pulling him towards it again. He was drifting. Letting it pull him into the darkness.

"_Dean, don't leave. I will be back in half an hour. Don't leave, I will be back. I promise." Sam's voice pulling him back, away from the thing that was killing him._

Dean pulled back away from the darkest point, away from where the thing was waiting in the darkness. I will wait Sam. I am waiting.

"Why are you waiting? He will just leave again. You know he will. He will try and stay, but he will leave and he will leave hating you."

"He will leave again," Dean said. "He has never needed me the way I need him. I took him away from the life he wanted, I took him away from the woman that he loved."

"And she died, it was your fault. Only yours, he blames you. I can see in his heart and he blames you. Only you" The terrifying pleasure was back in the thing's voice. Dean knew,, somehow that it was getting pleasure from his pain, from his guilt. He suddenly knew, understood what it wanted, what was happening--it was feeding off of him. Tearing away his soul to feed its own.

"Let go, I can end it for you. I can take away his hate, your father's disapproval. It will only hurt for a minute longer."

Dean felt the thing pulling him towards it. He could feel pain, soul-searing pain beginning. He could feel the thing tearing bits of his heart away. He let the pain flow over him--taking the last pieces of who he was, the last hope.

From in the darkness, from somewhere beyond the never ending dark, Dean felt something, something that was not pain, a steady beat, like a heartbeat. Sam? It pulled him back and away from the thing.

"No!" It was screaming--roaring. "He hates you, he blames you for all the loss in his life. It is true, I can see into hearts, I know."

Yes, he let himself drift again, but that steady beat filled him. Wouldn't let him drift away. It held him.

"_I don't seem to know a lot when you are not around. But Dean, I know one thing, completely and utterly. I love you, big brother."_

The thing was tearing at him, he was being ripped apart, torn into tiny pieces, but from somewhere those words reached down, Sam's voice sought him out and found him. _"I love you, Dean."_

"He is gone, he has left you alone to die," the thing said. "I will kill you and then kill him. You can save him if you let me have you."

"_I love you, big brother" _The words echoed through him. Held him, centered him. Kept him from drifting. Sammy? Please, Sam. Be careful. I can't help you from here, I can't save you. Please, Sam.

I will wait, if I can, I will wait.

The agony was building again as the thing tore him to shreds, his heart rendered open, his soul nearly taken. He knew he was dying. He could sense from somewhere a long way away his body was failing. He was slipping into the abyss of darkness.

I will wait if I can.

His body recovered, briefly. The thing was with him. He knew it was also with Sam. He was frightened for Sam. Sammy, why are you hunting this thing? Why don't you run, let it take me, save yourself, Sam.

_No, I have to stay focused, I have to save Dean, Sam's voice said._

You want to save me? Still? Sam, be careful. It wants to destroy you. Don't let it take you, don't listen to its words.

"SAM! Snap out of it, dude. It's fucking with your mind!" Dean yelled into the darkness

If I let it take me, will it release Sam? No! A voice that sounded like Sam's said. No Dean, I will save you. He could sense his brother through the thing. He wondered if Sam could sense him. Please, Sam. Be careful. I am waiting.

The thing lashed out at him, silencing Sam, separating him from Sam. "It is over, Dean. I killed him, I killed Sam," the thing said.

No! His body faded beneath him, darkness reached out. The unending darkness. I am afraid, Sam. Will you be there? I tried to wait.

The thing was screaming, Dean sensed its agony as it lashed out at him one last time--Trying to take the last piece of him away with it, trying to save its life by draining his. It was dying. It was leaving. Sam. Please, Sam, did you do this?

I will wait. If I can, I will wait. But Sammy, hurry.

Awareness came slowly. Light, like morning sun on his eyelids. Then a soft _beep beep beep_. The medicinal smell of oxygen flowing under his nose. Pain, oh yes, pain, his chest ached with a bone deep ache, but it was an ache that told him he was alive. The bed was shaking, he could hear--

Sam. He opened his eyes. His brother's head was down on the bed, he was shaking, his body was wracked with sobs. The sound broke Dean's heart. Sammy, what have I done?

He lifted his hand, it took more of an effort than he thought it would, it was trembling, but he managed to place it on his brother's head, gently stroking his hair. He took a deep breath.

"Don't cry. Please, Sam."


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Supernatural, just stopping by to play

Rainbows in the Dark

Chapter 7

Sam was lost. He knew he was lost. He felt the sobs that were tearing him apart. The pain was unendurable. He had shattered, nothing was left to recover. He was adrift, unable to find purchase.

Then, something, pulling him back. A hand, shaking with the effort, gently stroking his hair. "Don't cry, Please, Sam," a voice whispered. Sam raised his head, the hand fell away. He looked up, and into his brother's eyes.

"Dean?" Had he finally gone mad?

"Hey," his brother said. His voice was raspy, weak, barely more than a whisper.

"Dean!" He stood up so quickly the blood rushed from his head and his legs went out from under him, he fell awkwardly into the chair. He took his brother's hand in his own. "Hey."

Dean looked at his brother. His face was bandaged, his hand was bandaged, he was pale. There were dark circles under his eyes. His eyes were swollen from weeping. "How badly are you hurt?" He asked, surprised by the weakness in his voice.

"Not bad, Dean. I'll be ok. Don't worry. I'll be fine, now." Sam held his hand in a vice-like grip.

"How are you?" Sam asked, hesitant. His brother looked as if he had just returned from battle. He had gotten thinner, he was paler than usual. There was a weariness in his eyes, something deep, something that spoke of unseen wounds. He looked small in the hospital bed.

"Not bad. I'll be ok. Don't worry, please, Sam."

"I will worry if I damn well feel like it, Dean." Sam got up, suddenly angry, the grief, the vast sense of relief, boiling up into something that needed to be said. And said now. "If I want to worry I will. Got it?"

"Fine, " barely a whisper. "Worry." Sam looked at his brother. Dean was grinning at him, actually grinning.

"I might have overreacted a little right then."

"Drama queen," weak, fading, barely holding on. There was so much to say. How can I say it, Sam? How do I find the words after so long?

"Dean," Sam sat on the bed. "I know you are tired. I know. But when you are feeling stronger we need to talk." Dean took a breath to answer, but Sam plowed on. "I know, you think it is all words that mean nothing. But we have to talk. You won't ditch me this time. I don't care what you think about it, you are going to talk to me. I know you think words mean nothing…"

"You're right, Sam. We do need to talk. Not now, later."

"Not much later."

"No."

"You scared the shit out of me. I thought I had lost you." And what would I have done?

"I thought you had, too." But you didn't Sammy. You didn't. Sam had to lean forward to hear Dean, his voice had faded almost to nothing. "But I waited, Sammy. You told me to wait. You said you would be back, I waited." Dean saw his brother's eyes fill with tears.

"Thank you," Sam whispered. You heard me. How did you hear me? How can I say everything I need to you, Dean? How can I find the words? Are there words?

Sam looked at his brother. "Sometimes words are meaningless, aren't they?" And he reached out, mindful of the IVs, mindful of the bandages on Dean's chest and the stitches they hid and pulled his brother up and into a tight embrace. He felt Dean's arms go around him. He buried his face in Dean's shoulder, leaning into the comfort, the strength of Dean.

Dean leaned into the embrace, into the comfort, the strength of Sam. He could hear the steady beat of Sam's heart. "And sometimes, Sam, words mean everything. They can even save a life." He hesitated, his brother was silent, waiting.

"I love you, too, little brother." Had he said that since they left childhood behind? In those words? Had he? Did that long silence even matter now? No, nothing mattered but this.

"I love you."


End file.
